It's unclear when exactly I first heard the story, but off and on throughout my life it's clear the impact of that first time has spanned close to 30 years. Once again, the story was the highlight of my 2007, but before I get to that, we have to go back to the first time I remember it influencing my life.
My personal recollection begins in the mid-1980s when my grandparents visited us over Christmas in the Philippines. Only seeing your grandparents one out of every five years makes any opportunity to see them a HUGE deal. The "over the river and through the woods..." just doesn't do it justice when there are literally thousands of miles of separation across oceans and continents making river and forests a quick jaunt across a State line. So when Oma and Opa informed us that they'd be coming to visit for Christmas, it was an anticipated Christmas unlike any other in my life to this point and a Christmas we'd never forget.
We had an absolutely wonderful several weeks with them. In addition to celebrating Christmas, they brought with them many US treats including apples, a Butterball turkey and presents. Throughout their stay we spent lots of time with Oma and Opa reading books, playing Coleco Head-to-Head Football (in college mode mind you, Opa didn't like the pros because they played on Sundays) and travelling with them to various parts of the country sight seeing. Why He chose us, I'll never know, but my brother and I were the last grandkids to play with Opa, for, some time before their scheduled return to the US, he passed away. But one of the projects Opa and I worked on together before he left this earth is the first I can point to the story's impact on my life.
That Christmas my grandparents gave me several balsa wood airplane kits and Opa and I had spent the days after Christmas reading the directions, identifying the correct pieces, cutting them out of the panels and assembling the models (It's like I did it yesterday because I've been working on one with my Dad since July). One of the models Opa and I built was a replica of one of the small Piper airplanes and when it came time to decorate the model, I knew it had to be bright yellow just like Nate's.
Fast forward just short of 30 years to July, 2007, spin the globe about halfway around and locate Smoketown, Pennsylvania. That's where I attended a Wycliffe Family Day on a summer Sunday afternoon this past year. Having gone to school and dormed with the kids of parents who were involved with translating Scripture into native tongues or were flying planes and helicopters into jungle airstrips and even some of those kids now involved in the work themselves; I knew of the ministry of Wycliffe firsthand. The draw to this event was my Dad wanted to fly in an airplane and I convinced him that we wouldn't find a cheaper flight than a $15 ride around the airspace of Lancaster County. Though I knew about it beforehand, for it received top billing on the press releases, I didn't expect the impact the yellow plane would once again have on me.
As we found our parking space, there it was tied down in the grass, N5156H, this time in a life size version, but still a replica of course, for the real one was shredded to pieces on an island beach on the Curaray River decades ago. Amazingly, the actual airframe was discovered in 1994 and is on display at the headquarters of MAF. Though I had seen the movie with the entire Grace Church staff in 2005, on a whim I had just read the book last Spring; my eyes tearing regularly as I turned the pages learning even more about all that God's been doing among the Waodani.
And once again, the story which I first heard as a blue-eyed blonde-haired kid was surfacing in a rush from the deep recesses of my memory. I got to meet Steve Saint, Nate's son that day, shake his hand and talk briefly with him. I'm guessing, based on the response he receives worldwide and the prominence of End of the Spear, that the story impacts many people in similar ways that it has impacted me.
I felt heart tugs that afternoon that I haven't felt in a while and off and on since, I've contemplated and conversed with God as to what He's trying to tell me. Here some six months later, I'm still trying to listen intently through the distractions of daily living and the hustle and bustle, but that day opened the door to an unexplored room or at least one I haven't explored recently. For now, the exploration continues until He leads me to a point that requires faith and action.
And so my highlight for 2007 was the yellow plane. I'd built a replica with Opa years ago and now I'm building another one with my Dad... well, trying to. I'm having trouble identifying the different pieces on the balsa panels. Go figure. What God has in store for 2008 and beyond is yet to be discovered. But whatever it involves, He's always at work around us and He'll be inviting me to join me in what He's going to do. I look forward to it. Happy New Year!
My personal recollection begins in the mid-1980s when my grandparents visited us over Christmas in the Philippines. Only seeing your grandparents one out of every five years makes any opportunity to see them a HUGE deal. The "over the river and through the woods..." just doesn't do it justice when there are literally thousands of miles of separation across oceans and continents making river and forests a quick jaunt across a State line. So when Oma and Opa informed us that they'd be coming to visit for Christmas, it was an anticipated Christmas unlike any other in my life to this point and a Christmas we'd never forget.
We had an absolutely wonderful several weeks with them. In addition to celebrating Christmas, they brought with them many US treats including apples, a Butterball turkey and presents. Throughout their stay we spent lots of time with Oma and Opa reading books, playing Coleco Head-to-Head Football (in college mode mind you, Opa didn't like the pros because they played on Sundays) and travelling with them to various parts of the country sight seeing. Why He chose us, I'll never know, but my brother and I were the last grandkids to play with Opa, for, some time before their scheduled return to the US, he passed away. But one of the projects Opa and I worked on together before he left this earth is the first I can point to the story's impact on my life.
That Christmas my grandparents gave me several balsa wood airplane kits and Opa and I had spent the days after Christmas reading the directions, identifying the correct pieces, cutting them out of the panels and assembling the models (It's like I did it yesterday because I've been working on one with my Dad since July). One of the models Opa and I built was a replica of one of the small Piper airplanes and when it came time to decorate the model, I knew it had to be bright yellow just like Nate's.
Fast forward just short of 30 years to July, 2007, spin the globe about halfway around and locate Smoketown, Pennsylvania. That's where I attended a Wycliffe Family Day on a summer Sunday afternoon this past year. Having gone to school and dormed with the kids of parents who were involved with translating Scripture into native tongues or were flying planes and helicopters into jungle airstrips and even some of those kids now involved in the work themselves; I knew of the ministry of Wycliffe firsthand. The draw to this event was my Dad wanted to fly in an airplane and I convinced him that we wouldn't find a cheaper flight than a $15 ride around the airspace of Lancaster County. Though I knew about it beforehand, for it received top billing on the press releases, I didn't expect the impact the yellow plane would once again have on me.
As we found our parking space, there it was tied down in the grass, N5156H, this time in a life size version, but still a replica of course, for the real one was shredded to pieces on an island beach on the Curaray River decades ago. Amazingly, the actual airframe was discovered in 1994 and is on display at the headquarters of MAF. Though I had seen the movie with the entire Grace Church staff in 2005, on a whim I had just read the book last Spring; my eyes tearing regularly as I turned the pages learning even more about all that God's been doing among the Waodani.
And once again, the story which I first heard as a blue-eyed blonde-haired kid was surfacing in a rush from the deep recesses of my memory. I got to meet Steve Saint, Nate's son that day, shake his hand and talk briefly with him. I'm guessing, based on the response he receives worldwide and the prominence of End of the Spear, that the story impacts many people in similar ways that it has impacted me.
I felt heart tugs that afternoon that I haven't felt in a while and off and on since, I've contemplated and conversed with God as to what He's trying to tell me. Here some six months later, I'm still trying to listen intently through the distractions of daily living and the hustle and bustle, but that day opened the door to an unexplored room or at least one I haven't explored recently. For now, the exploration continues until He leads me to a point that requires faith and action.
And so my highlight for 2007 was the yellow plane. I'd built a replica with Opa years ago and now I'm building another one with my Dad... well, trying to. I'm having trouble identifying the different pieces on the balsa panels. Go figure. What God has in store for 2008 and beyond is yet to be discovered. But whatever it involves, He's always at work around us and He'll be inviting me to join me in what He's going to do. I look forward to it. Happy New Year!
Photo by Peter Norton
